The heavy doors of the royal court slammed shut behind Prince Alaric.
Clara stood alone in the center of the hall, the echo of his departure still ringing in her ears like the aftermath of a gunshot. Her words hung in the air like smoke: "I will not kneel."
Now, there was only silence.
Until it shattered.
"You dare speak against the royal decree?" the high chancellor barked, rising from his seat as murmurs spread like wildfire across the court. "Lady Clara Whitmore, your insolence is unprecedented!"
Clara didn't flinch. "So was the execution of my father, and yet the court remained silent then."
Gasps rippled through the nobles, some clutching pearls, others trading looks of gleeful scandal. But Clara's gaze was forward, unwavering.
Clara didn't flinch. "So was the execution of my father, and yet the court remained silent then."
Gasps rippled through the nobles, some clutching pearls, others trading looks of gleeful scandal. But Clara's gaze was forward, unwavering.
The chancellor's face darkened. "The Whitmore name no longer holds weight. Your father's disgrace has tarnished—"
"Tarnished your comfort," Clara cut in. "Not his honor."
One of the ministers stood. "Defiance at a royal gathering is treason."
"Then call it treason," Clara said, her voice rising. "But I will not be another name scribbled into a marriage contract for political convenience."
Just then, the grand doors opened again.
Prince Alaric returned.
The crowd stilled as he walked back toward the throne—not with fury, but something worse: calm precision.
He stopped just feet away from Clara, and the air between them charged like a storm about to break.
"You speak boldly, Lady Whitmore," he said, voice low. "But words carry weight. Are you prepared to pay their price?"
Clara didn't blink. "Strip my title. Take my lands. But you will never take my will."
A long silence. Then, Alaric turned to the chancellor. "So be it. Let the court witness: Lady Clara Whitmore has refused the crown. Her estate is forfeit. Her house name remains... but she stands alone."
His words were final.
Clara felt her world tilt—but she didn't fall.
As the nobles watched, waiting for her to collapse, Clara merely straightened her back and walked out with her chin high, her pride intact.
They had taken everything—except her fire.
And Prince Alaric, from the steps of the throne, watched her go… a strange glint in his cold, stormy eyes.
[ To be continued....]